Shadows
by A Vermilion Memory
Summary: What if Lothiriel had been intended for Theodred? Would she want his cousin once the man she loved was dead? Would Eomer be able to win her over? (Lame title...)
1. Part One

__Hello, all! I've been out of the game for a little while. It's been a busy couple of years with work and new babies and new houses. I've continued writing but haven't had anything I felt like was worth publishing. This will be a short, three part story. I hope you all enjoy. :) XOXO Vermilion

**Part One**

_The warm summer breeze blew my loose hair wildly around my face. I laughed and tried to smooth it back, but Théodred beat me to it. He gathered the silky mass at the base of my neck and tied it with one of those leather thongs he always seemed to have on hand. I smiled up at him. "Thank you."_

"_You are welcome, my lady." I granted him a chaste kiss for his efforts and we returned to our slow stroll through the gardens. Darkness had fallen some time ago, and I knew I should go in, but it was too difficult to tear myself away from him. This was our last night together before he left. He would not be back until late spring when the planting and foaling were done. His hand found mine, like it always did when we walked, and he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. I leaned on him, enjoying the way his shoulder felt against my head._

"_Will you miss me very much when you are home?" I asked. It was a vain question, but knowing that he missed me as much as I missed him was comforting._

"_Of course I will, Lothíriel." He stopped and faced me. One calloused hand cupped my cheek, the other circled my waist and drew me to him. "The Hornburg will be cold and empty until you are there by my side as its mistress." He looked happy. "I cannot wait for you to see Rohan, my sweet. I know you will love it as much as I do."_

"_A year is so long." I murmured, trying not to sound forlorn._

"_It will fly by. You will be kept busy." I lifted a hand to stroke his beard, but he captured it and kissed it soundly._

"_Oh, Théodred." His name came out in a sob as I flung my arms around his neck. He gripped me tightly before running his hands up and down my back. He nuzzled my neck and whispered endearments in Rohirric. His voice always went low and deep when he spoke Rohirric to me. It sent shivers down my spine. His lips eventually found mine, and it was a long time before we broke apart. He cradled me to his chest, stroking my hair._

_"It won't be long, Lothíriel, I promise. We will be together again before you know it." I breathed deep, trying to trust him. He smelled good, of leather and horse and something woodsy that I couldn't quite put my finger on._

"_You will write often?" I asked, pulling away to look up at him. A strand of blonde hair had worked free from its bonds and blew across his face. I tucked it behind his ear, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw on their way back down. I knew I would always remember the way his beard tickled my skin._

"_As often as I can."_

"_Even a short note that tells me you are well will suffice." He leaned down and kissed me again, longer this time and more deeply. I knew the moment of our parting was near and clung to him, returning his kiss with all my strength. My lashes were wet with tears when we finally broke apart, and he wiped them away._

"_No tears, dear heart. I will see you again soon." I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "I love you, Lothíriel." He kissed my hand and then planted one last, soft kiss on my lips._

"_I love you, Théodred."_

The summer stars faded into the blackness of the ceiling and tears streamed unbidden down my cheeks as I curled up against the pillows, trying to block out the dream. He was dead, hacked down by orcs and lying beneath a barrow at the Fords of Isen. The tears turned to sobs as the memory of our last night together filled me. His touch, his smell, the low velvet murmur of his voice in my ear; everything I had managed to suppress for the last few months came back in a torrent, and I lay crippled beneath the onslaught, my broken heart beating feebly as my breath came in ragged gasps. I wondered if I could die of the pain of missing him, of losing him. I wished that I could. My life without him was hollow.

I had never been the sort of girl to swoon of warriors, I was too intellectual for that, but the moment I laid eyes on the Prince of Rohan something inside me shifted. He was not just a warrior. I could discuss books with him just as easily as I could my tutor. His stern façade yielded to reveal a man who laughed easily and was just as content to sit with me in the gardens as he was to ride and duel with my brothers. We met the summer of my sixteenth year and were betrothed the next. Our marriage would be advantageous to both Gondor and Rohan, but that did not matter to me. All that mattered was that I would marry the man I loved, the man of my choosing.

Those blissful summer days seemed a lifetime ago. War had come and torn my innocent, idyllic world apart. My life shifted from leisurely days spent strolling the Gardens of Minas Tirith to managing housing and supplies for the thousands of refugees who poured into Dol Amroth from the countryside and nearby fishing villages. Théodred's letters had been few and far between, but in late winter they stopped completely. I forced myself not to worry for him. I knew that the war was going badly, and that he was likely not able to spare anyone to ride to Gondor with a letter for me.

I did not know that he was dead until after the war was over. And then there had been no time then to mourn him. Restoring Gondor and organizing supplies to send to the devastated Riddermark had consumed my time. There was no work to be done now, though, and my mind was finally letting down the walls I had built to hide the memories of him.

The dark was yielding to dawn when my crying finally stopped, and I struggled into a sitting position. My face felt puffy and raw, and my eyes were dry. I wanted something to cool my skin, so I crawled out of bed and felt my way blindly toward the attached washroom. Once there, I found a pile of clean towels and a pitcher of water. I poured a little water in a basin and wet one of the towels, wringing it out thoroughly before stumbling back to bed. The cold towel felt good on my face, but sleep did not come again; I was too exhausted by grief, and my mind was working too fast. My memories of Théodred clambered for my attention, and proved so distracting that I scarcely heard my maid come in and draw my bath in the attached washroom.

"My lady?" Her voice broke across my tangled thoughts and I jumped, startled, the now dry towel slipping from my face. "Are you alright?" She appeared beside me, retrieving the towel from the floor.

"I'm fine, Romenna. Why are you here so early?" I sat up, squinting out the window. The sunlight streaming through told me it was well into the morning, and not nearly so early as I thought.

"King Éomer has requested an audience with you, my lady." She helped me sit up and set a breakfast tray on my lap.

"Did he say what he wanted?" I had met at the previous night's feast. He was in the city to collect Théoden's body for burial and struck me as a grim and serious man. He had reason to be grim, I supposed. He had lost his uncle and cousin, and his sister had lain close to death herself.

"He did not, but your father instructed me to wake you. You are to have an early lunch with the King." She poured my tea then disappeared into the washroom again. I had little appetite and only managed the cup of tea and a few bites of toast before Romenna returned. She clucked disapprovingly when she saw how little was missing from the tray but did not press me.

The bath was blissfully warm, and I sank into it gratefully while she set about washing my hair. "Put this on your eyes." She instructed, handing me a compress that smelled strongly of chamomile and lavender. "It will calm down the redness and swelling." She was right. By the time I had been thoroughly bathed, my eyes were only a little puffy. "Which dress would you prefer today, my lady?" She asked as she combed my hair and towelled it dry. I felt too tired and docile to be commanding.

"It doesn't matter to me, Romenna. I trust you to pick something that will be suitable." She chose a light summer gown in a pretty robin's egg blue.

"It is already warm this morning, would you like your hair up?" She asked after she had laced me into the gown. I shook my head so she arranged it simply, pulling it away from my face with a pair of silver combs.

"I'm not going to be early, am I?" I asked as she helped me into my slippers.

"No, my lady. I think you will be right on time, if you walk leisurely. You will dine with him in the Citadel."

"Then you're excused, Romenna. I'll ring you if I need anything else." She curtsied and went into the washroom to clean up from my bath. The Citadel tended to be chilly, even in the middle of summer so I picked a patterned shawl out of my wardrobe, and as an afterthought, a small handkerchief.

Romenna was right about the day being warm, and I let the shawl hang loosely around my shoulders as I took the long way to the Citadel, choosing the path through the Royal Gardens instead of taking the main road.

The walk gave me time to wonder why Éomer King would request a private audience with me. Perhaps he wished to express his personal condolences for my loss. 'Not just your loss.' I reminded myself, remembering how Théodred had always spoken of Éomer and Éowyn as his brother and sister. I hastily pieced together what I knew of Éomer from my conversations and correspondence with Théodred: he was the Third Marshall of Riddermark, famously hot-tempered, and popular among women, but mysteriously unwed.

That last thought brought me to a halt.

The sole surviving male of the House of Éorl was unwed and without an heir, and I, the only princess of my generation had been called to a private luncheon with him.. The sudden, terrifying realization of what this meeting could mean crashed over me, and I sank numbly onto a nearby bench, trying to breathe normally. Surely my father would not dream of marrying me off so quickly, and to the cousin of my dead love! "It is too soon." I murmured, twisting my shaking hands in the fringes of the shawl. The memory of our last night together flooded through me again, and the tears began to flow anew as I remembered the soft touch of his lips against mine. I wasn't ready to leave him. I would never be ready to leave him.

It took a long time for me to compose myself, and all Romenna's work with the lavender and chamomile compress had been wasted, but there was nothing to be done for it. The King of Rohan would have to see me, swollen eyes and all. I wished vainly for a looking glass, but it was too late to turn back to our townhouse and look for one. I had a luncheon to be at, and I could not disappoint my father and slight the King of Rohan, no matter what their intentions for me were.

I forced myself to my feet and hurried toward the Citadel. A guard directed me to the Steward's chambers, a place I knew well. My anxious steps led me to the heavy wooden door too soon for my own comfort, and I hesitated outside for a moment, afraid of the man on the other side. It took every bit of my ebbing strength and courage to turn the handle and enter the room.


	2. Part Two

Here's the next chapter! You are all such sweet, patient people to read and review and wait two months for the next update! This chapter took longer than I wanted, but I wrote it and rewrote it and beat it with a stick to make sure it was just right. I hope you all enjoy it. :)  
XOXOXO  
Vermilion  
P.S. I love reviews! They really keep me going and are such an encouragement. It's wonderful to know you enjoy what I write.

**Part Two**

I heard her soft footsteps in the hall and her hesitation at the door. I rolled the bundle of letters in my hand. They were stacked neatly and tied with one of those leather thongs Théodred always seemed to have on hand. The parchment was worn smooth beneath my fingers, and I wondered how many times he had read and reread these letters while out on patrol. Her hand finally found the door, and she entered the room quietly.

We had been introduced at the banquet the night before. I was surprised that someone so young had managed to snare my cousin, but having seen her for myself, it shocked me that no one had caught her before Théodred. She was very pretty, neither tall nor short with a slim yet womanly body and impeccable manners. Her heavy dark hair had been bound up the night before, but now it hung loose to her waist, held back from her face with a pair of plain combs.

"Princess Lothíriel."

"Éomer King." She curtsied prettily, but there was something in the way she held herself that spoke of a weariness that touched her very soul. When she looked up I could see that her eyes were puffy and tired. "To what do I owe the honor of this meeting?" Her tone was courteous, but I detected a bit of an edge, like she was suspicious of me. I considered telling her the reason her father requested I meet with her, but thought better of it. Better to cut to the heart of why _I_ wanted to see her.

I extended the bundle of letters to her, and she took them, looking curious. "These were found in my cousin's saddlebags at the Isen. I thought you would like them returned to do with as you please." She ran a slim white finger across the top letter and touched the leather binding. I saw her breast heave with a deep, shuddering breath. She was still and quiet for a moment, and when she finally looked up at me, her eyes were moist.

"Thank you, Éomer King. I cannot tell you-" here her voice broke with a sob, and she turned away, struggling to regain her composure and failing. More sobs followed the first, and a few tears slipped down her cheeks. I could not resist gathering her into my arms and pressing her to my chest. She clung to me, desperate sobs wracking her body.

"You loved him deeply." I murmured and felt her nod as a fresh wave of tears dampened my tunic.

It took a long time for her sorrow to run its course, and she gave me a watery smile, brushing a hand across the front of my tunic. "I'm afraid I've gotten your clothes a soggy." I shrugged.

"Never mind. It will dry." I was reluctant to let her pull away, but forced myself to unwind my arms from her slim body.

"It would seem I'm good for nothing but weeping today." She extracted a handkerchief and dabbed gingerly at her eyes.

"I am so sorry for your loss, my lady." She nodded, and it seemed that she suppressed another surge of emotion.

"It is the price of war. I am not the only woman to weep over a lost loved one." She seemed to say this more for her own benefit then mine. "Besides," She met my eyes squarely for the first time: wide, blue-gray and fringed with the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. "It is as much your loss as it is mine. Théodred always spoke of you and Lady Éowyn with such love, as the brother and sister he never had." Now it was my turn to strangle the emotion in my own voice.

"I know." And how we had loved him. I wrestled down the sorrow and anger. There was no room for this weakness now, not if I was going to walk the hard road set before me. She extended the handkerchief to me, but I refused.

"Kings don't cry." She gave me a crooked smile.

"Not in front of foreign princesses, anyway." She tucked the square of linen into my pocket despite my protest. "In case you come across any other weeping ladies." I thought I saw the ghost of wink, but it was gone before I could be sure.

She had excused herself after that, claiming a headache and no appetite for lunch. I decided to visit Firefoot in the stables. I hadn't wept since sitting vigil over Éowyn's stricken form in the Houses of Healing, and I couldn't bring myself do it now. All I could summon was rage and even that fizzled out after a few punches to the stall's stone dividing wall.

Night found me tossing and turning in a borrowed bed in Imrahil's townhouse. He had offered me a spare room after the last, late meeting ended. I had accepted it readily, feeling bone weary at the time, but sleep eluded me now. The candle had spluttered out long ago, and my thoughts still continued to chase incessant circles around each other.

Today's councils had been stressful, hashing and rehashing what ought to be done about the Haradrim who had retreated beyond Gondor's southern border and the remainder of Sauron's forces. We would be forced to ride to war again , but the question was how long of a respite we would be granted. Aragorn and Imrahil were insisting that Rohan accept gifts of grain and supplies to get us through the winter, but my pride had a hard time accepting that. The argument was raised that there could be no shame in taking the grain if it was part of a dowry. Lothíriel's dowry, to be more specific.

My heart ached when I thought of her, so sweet and sad and timid when she came into the steward's chambers. She had fit so easily into my arms, like she had always belonged there. But she was still so obviously in love with Théodred; I could not marry her, not even if it meant securing the means necessary to help my people through the winter and perhaps even my own happiness. Her handkerchief was still in my pocket. I had fingered it many times throughout the day, wondering what the best way to return it would be and if she would notice if I didn't.

I rolled onto my stomach with a groan and jammed the pillow over my head. Maybe if I pressed hard enough I could knock myself unconscious and get some sleep. Just then I heard the quiet creak of the floorboards outside my room, and the faint flicker of a candle could be seen through the gap between the door and the bare floor. There was a pause and then the light moved away, down the hall. Who could be awake so late? Tomorrow promised to be another long day, but curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped out of my room.

I crept silent as a cat through the house, watching for any sign of candlelight, but found none. I was about to give up and go back to the bed, when the sound of pottery breaking in the kitchen caught my attention.

Lothíriel jumped when I burst into the room then gave me an apologetic smile as she collected the pieces of a broken mug from the floor. "I'm so sorry if I woke you." I shook my head, trying to tame the suddenly rapid beating of my heart. She wore only her thin shift and an open robe.

"I was awake anyway. You passed my room, and I couldn't resist finding out who was awake at this time of the night." I knelt beside her on the floor. "Let me do that. It wouldn't do for you to cut yourself and have to answer awkward questions." My eyes went unbidden to her breasts, outlined tantalizingly by the gauzy material.

"And what about you?" She stood and tied her robe quickly, stepping away from me. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed by my blatant male interest in her body.

"I'm a warrior. No one is going to bother to ask how I managed to cut myself yet again." I gathered up the broken mug while she busied herself by the banked fire. She had settled herself at the long, scarred kitchen table with a fresh mug of something steaming when I was finished tidying up her mess. "What have you got there?" Without waiting for her answer, I grabbed her mug and took a hearty drink that left me spluttering and gasping for breath. She burst out laughing. "Béma, Lothíriel I thought you had tea! What the hell is that?" She laughed for a long time, and when I fixed her with a stern glare she only laughed harder. This was the first time she had been happy in my presence, and all the reasons Théodred had been drawn to her were clear: so young and alive, a breath of fresh sea air.

"It's a potent spirit we brew in Dol Amroth. I've mixed it with hot water and lemon so it is rather diluted." Her eyes still danced.

"What is a fine lady like you doing drinking that piss?" I asked, disgruntled from being bested by the drink. She looked offended and took her cup back.

"It helps me sleep." She cradled the mug between pale hands and seemed to withdraw into herself. I bit my tongue. A long silence stretched between us as she stared into the mug, and I berated myself for being thoughtless. Of course she was having a hard time sleeping. It was plain in the tired curve of her mouth and the shadows beneath her eyes.

"Please forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to be so unfeeling." She looked up, sad eyes meeting mine, and shrugged.

"Please don't tell my father. I think he believes me to be doing better than I am, and I would hate to worry him."

"I think sometimes we only see what we want to see when those we love are hurting." I told her.

"Perhaps. At least he hasn't tried to marry me off yet." She smiled weakly. I felt a stab of guilt, and my mind immediately sprang to my conversation with Imrahil at the previous night's feast.

_I tugged at the collar of my embroidered tunic and eyed the exit into the gardens. The combination of summer's heat and heavy perfumes the Gondorians favored made the hall stifling, and I was sure that every eligible maiden in the city had been thrust at me in the last few hours. A solitary walk in the cool night air would be a welcome respite, if only I could manage to sneak out without being snagged by another nobleman with a daughter..._

"_You look deep in thought, my friend." Imrahil appeared beside me, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth._

"_Just contemplating escape." I replied. The smirk turned into a grin._

"_Gondorian society is something, isn't it?" I shook my head._

"_I think I've been introduced to every girl of marrying age in the entire country." Imrahil laughed at that._

"_Gondorian noblemen are a predatory group to be sure, but even more so when there is a crown to be had." I wrestled down the familiar surge of bitterness: a crown and a queen that should have never been mine. "Have you thought about Lothíriel?" Imrahil gestured toward his daughter. She stood across the hall with her brother Erchirion. She was lovely, with her mass of dark hair and pale skin that seemed to glow against a soft pink gown. But she was Théodred's, and if her love for him was as true as she had written, it would be a long time before she was ready to love again._

"_She belonged to Théodred, Imrahil. I do not want a wife who loves another, no matter how dead he might be."_

"_She has not grieved as hard as I would have expected." He replied, his eyes still on her. "Perhaps she was not so in love with him as it seemed. Indeed, it had been many months since they had seen each other." I did not reply, unwilling to start an argument with a man I considered a good friend. "Just think about it." Imrahil said finally. "I will arrange a private luncheon for you tomorrow." I suppressed a sigh and nodded grimly. I had something to give her anyway._"_Good. I will have my steward arrange it. In the meantime," He leaned toward me conspiratorially. "There is a backdoor into the gardens right behind us. You should be able to slip out without being seen." He grinned and winked, before strolling away._

"What is it?" She asked. Her slim fingers touched mine for just a moment before withdrawing.

"It's nothing." I lied and took another hesitant sip from her mug. It burned less going down this time. "I was wondering if you might like to come to Rohan." I said, giving the liquid an experimental swirl before drinking again.

"Come to Rohan? Why?" She looked suspicious. The idea had come to my while I tossed and turned in bed, and had seemed like a good one at the time, but now I felt a little hesitant.

"Your father is coming to help lay Théoden King to rest. I thought perhaps you would come with him, and I could take you to the Isen, where Théodred is buried." Her eyes filled with tears, a few even going so far as to sneak out and cling to her lashes.

"That is so kind, but can you spare the time? I know you will be very busy rebuilding before winter."

"The trip would not require me to be away from Edoras for more than a few days. Besides, I would want you to be able to say a proper farewell to him." Her answering smile was radiant.

"I would like that very much."

"Good. I will arrange it with your father." I squeezed her hand and stood. "Now if you will excuse me. I must get to bed. I have another full day of meetings tomorrow."

"Of course. I should do the same." She curtsied prettily. "Thank you so much for your kindness, Éomer. My words cannot express how grateful I am to you." I raised her hand to my lips and kissed her fingers.

"I am at your service, Lothíriel. Good night."

"Good night."

I made my way back to my room and settled into bed. Sleep was just beginning to claim me when I heard her soft footsteps pause outside my door then continue on down the hall, and I had to quell the sudden urge to peek and see which room was hers. It dawned on me as I drifted off that at some point in the kitchen we had stopped using titles with one another.


	3. Part Three

Hello All! First, thank you all for your sweet comments on the last chapter. They really motivated me to get this one done. I tried to obsess over this chapter a little less than the previous chapters and it got away from me a bit. (You don't mind long chapters, do you?) I hope you all enjoy reading it.  
XOXOVermilion  
P.S. If anyone would be interested in proofing/betaing for me, I would love you forever! I think having someone else look over things would be a great help in pushing the plot along.

A cloud of dust rose from the column ahead of me, and I coughed into my sleeve. The sun was just beginning to set, and word had come back through the ranks a few minutes ago that we would be stopping soon. It had been a hot, dry day, and I was exhausted, sore, and chafing in places I didn't even know existed thanks to my damned wool riding habit. _It's worth it. _I reminded myself as the cavalcade rippled to a halt. _It will be good to see where Théodred is buried. _Too sore to dismount on my own, I decided to wait until one of my brothers was free to help me down. I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders.

Éomer appeared before any of my brothers, and I quickly drew my arms down, trying to look less worn out than I felt. He was not fooled. "You look quite done in, Princess." That rankled, but I felt too tired for a witty response.

"I am not accustomed to riding one hour in fair weather, let alone all day in the blazing sun."

"I could tell that just by looking at you." His grin was equal parts cheeky and sympathetic as he grabbed me around the waist and swung me down. "You have an awkward seat." I was sure he could feel the dampness of the red wool, but his hands seemed to linger on my waist for a moment all the same, and I stepped away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. He seemed to sense my discomfort and busied himself with handing my mare's reins to a groom. "At least you don't ride sidesaddle." He remarked, patting the horse's flank as she departed. I stifled a groan and leaned forward to stretch out my back and legs.

"No. I learned to ride bareback in Dol Amroth and didn't even know the sidesaddle was considered proper until my father relocated me to Minas Tirith to live with my aunt when I was sixteen. By then I wasn't really interested in learning to ride sidesaddle. I much preferred the company of my books and spending time in the gardens."

"You did pick up the 'proper' manner of dress, though." He looked me up and down. I rolled my eyes, wondering just how much of a mess I looked.

"Indeed. Even if my Aunt Ivriniel couldn't convince me to learn to ride like the other ladies, she made sure I was attired appropriately."

"You would be more comfortable if you wore something other than that ridiculous wool get up." He told me as he offered me his arm and we started toward the camp.

"Yes, well." I looked down at my full split skirt. It was heavy and hot. The wool was thin, but extremely fitted in the bodice with a corset underneath. It trapped every bit of heat and moisture, making my undergarments stick to me like a second skin, but part of me wanted to give him a little bit of an argument. "They are all the rage at home and I would hate to start a scandal by appearing in anything else."

"I'm sure I could drum you up a Rohirric riding outfit." He pressed. I thought the women of Rohan looked quite fetching in their blouses and prettily embroidered tunics with loose trousers worn tucked into the tops of their boots but didn't think my father would countenance me baring my legs like that. My eyes were drawn to another lady of our party, allowing herself to be lifted from the saddle by one of King Elessar's knights.

"What? And let Lady Gilraen outshine me? Never!" Éomer's eyes went to the lady mentioned. She turned toward us, and I immediately regretted drawing his attention to her. She looked fresh as a daisy, dark blue riding dress immaculate and not a hair out of place. Her eyes lighted on Éomer, and a cloying smile came to her face. She flitted over to us like a hummingbird toward a particularly bright flower.

"King Éomer." Her voice was so high and breathy that I had to resist the urge to hit her with my flagon of water, insipid woman. My sudden dislike of her startled me. When had I become so possessive of Éomer? _He is my friend and deserves much better than a superficial twit like Gilraen. _"We went such a long way. I'm quite worn out." The muscles in the arm I held tensed.

"I am sorry if we have traveled further than you're used to, my lady, but I am eager to return to the Mark that my uncle may be laid to rest with his ancestors." His tone was cold and formal. Lady Gilraen barely concealed her offended grimace.

"Of course, your highness," She ducked her head, obviously striving for humility and failing. "I did not mean-"

"If you will excuse me, Lady Gilraen, Princess Lothíriel is quite tired, and I must see her to her father's camp." I was strangely pleased to see that her pretty face was rather ugly when she scowled. I waited until we were out of her earshot before I throwing him an insulted look.

"I'm not sure I like you using me as an excuse to escape Lady Gilraen's clutches." He raised an eyebrow, and his arm relaxed.

"Why? Because you're not exhausted? Princess, if you lean on me any more, I may as well carry you." I blushed so deeply my scalp tingled. I pulled away from him a little, mortified.

"Forgive me, my lord. I had no idea I was taking advantage of your superior strength."

"Oh stop it." He grinned and tugged me closer. "I don't mind. It's not everyday that I'm called upon to be so chivalrous."

It was not far to our part of the camp, but I was moving so slowly he joked that no less than four snails had passed us. I did not respond, just fixed him with my haughtiest look, which he seemed to find amusing. He was just settling me into a folding camp chair by the fire pit when Erchirion materialized.

"Lothíriel, there you are. I came to help you dismount, but you were already gone." Erchirion had long been my favorite brother. He was always sweet and caring toward me, taking his responsibility as an elder brother and protector seriously. Of all my family, I spent the most time with him. But despite my fondness, I felt irrationally annoyed with him for interrupting just now.

"You took so long to come, I worried I might die of old age in the saddle. Éomer King was good enough to escort me when you did not appear."

"I'm so sorry, Lothíriel. Amrothos needed help getting the horses situated." Erchirion knelt beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and placing a kiss on my cheek. "Will it redeem me to tell you that Lyla is preparing a bath for you in your tent?" I was never one to turn down a sincere apology.

"Oh, I suppose I won't stay angry at you." I allowed him to cuddle me a little closer despite my sweaty clothes and hair.

"If you two will excuse me." I had momentarily forgotten about Éomer and looked up to see a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Of course, my lord, thank you so much for your assistance." He smiled at me, and I was pleased to return it.

"I am at your service, Princess Lothíriel." He bowed and was gone.

"At your service, eh, little sister?" Erchirion shot me a curious look. "Is there something going on between you and our northern friend?" I rolled my eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. I consider Éomer King to be a friend and nothing more."

"Yes, but does he feel the same?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and I could not resist swatting him.

"Give it a rest. It has been too long a day for such wild speculations. Help me to my tent; I'm more than ready for that bath."

I soaked in the bath for a long time, letting some of the soreness and tension slip from my body. When I was dry and clad in a clean nightgown, Lyla brought my supper to the tent, and Erchirion came with it, bearing a bundle of clothes. "From your northern admirer." He smirked, handing them over.

"He is _not _my northern admirer." I growled, motioning for him to set it down.

"You protest quite a bit for someone who claims the man is just a friend." He replied, spooning some of the rabbit stew into his bowl and settling down on my cot. I crossed my arms and glared at him.

"You, of all our family, know best how I loved Théodred. Do you think I could set him aside so easily? And for his cousin?!" My volume increased the longer I spoke, and tears sprang to my eyes. I knew I was being irrational, that he was only goading me, but I was too tired for it tonight.

"Quiet, Thiri. You'll bring people running if you continue screeching like that." Erchirion set his bowl aside and pulled me to him. He folded me into a hug, cradling me against his chest. "You know I'm just teasing you, sister. I would never expect you to forget Théodred or be so inconstant that you could easily move from one man to another." He paused and kissed the top of my head. "But, dearest, you know that you will need to move on someday. You can't grieve over your first love your whole life. You will eventually need to let Théodred go and allow yourself to love someone else. And it is alright to do so. He wouldn't want you to die a miserable old maid." I knew he was right, but couldn't admit it yet. And something else bothered me.

"You don't think Éomer King expects me to marry him in Théodred's place, do you?" I looked up at my brother. His expression was careful.

"Of course not; that's not how Éomer does things." He paused, seeming to think over his next words. "Lothíriel, you know that it would be an advantageous match for both of you?" A cold weight settled in my chest. Wild, irrational thoughts began to swirl through my mind. I fought through them, looking for a coherent response.

"I don't want to marry someone just because it's advantageous."

"I know you don't, and no one is saying you should, but perhaps you could bring yourself to consider Éomer as a potential suitor? He has been attentive to you." I felt obligated to disagree.

"Friendly is not attentive." He chuckled and gave me a squeeze before releasing me to resume eating his stew.

"I'm not going to split hairs with you about it, little sister. Call it what you want, he's given you more of his attention than any of the other ladies, and you're the only one that hasn't been clamoring for it." My ill-humor cleared a little at that.

"It's probably _because _I'm the only one not chasing him like hounds after a fox." I helped myself to some of the stew and sat beside him. "You should have seen Lady Gilraen this evening." I remarked. "She saw us walking and was on him faster than I would have thought possible for a woman who spent the whole day in the saddle." Erchirion laughed.

"Ah, but she wasn't in the saddle all day. She spent most of the morning in the carriage with her mother then switched to horseback after our break for lunch."

"That's why she looked so tidy while I was sweating like mad with my hair coming all undone!" I shook my head. "The lengths some people will go to."

"Queen of Rohan is no mean title." My brother reminded me. "And speaking of looking undone, aren't you going to open your gift?" I eyed the bundle of clothes dubiously, not sure if I really wanted them or not.

"I know what it is." I told him as I picked it up and untied the twine holding it together. I held up the tunic for his inspection. It was lovely: lightweight golden yellow cloth embroidered with vivid red and blue flowers and green leaves.

"Very pretty." He took it from me and ran a finger over the embroidery while I shook out the blouse and trousers. "You'll wear it, won't you?" I raised my eyebrows.

"You don't think it would be unseemly to expose my legs?" He shrugged.

"I haven't heard a peep from Father about the ladies from Rohan, and Ivriniel isn't here to stop you." I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment. The loose pants looked so much more cool and comfortable than my riding dress, and a corset would be unnecessary under the less fitted tunic and blouse. I looked up to see Erchirion grinning devilishly.

"You should wear it just to see what kind of reaction you can get out of Gilraen."

The next morning found Lyla fussing over what she had dubbed my "scandalous" attire, but I didn't care. The night had been cool and restful, and I felt refreshed. She was just tying off my braid when Erchirion tapped at the canvas. "Are you decent, Lothíriel?" Lyla shot me a look that I chose to ignore.

"Depends on your standards." I replied, and he entered, kissing me on the cheek as he surveyed my new riding clothes.

"Don't you look fetching."

"Thank you, brother." I smoothed a hand down the front of the tunic.

"Our father bids you get a move on before breakfast is gone, and yours is one of the few tents left to be taken down so we can get on the road." He waited while I pulled on my boots then led me out of the tent into the dawn's rosy light. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, promising another sweltering day. I felt self-conscious without the weight of my skirts swishing around my legs, but everyone was too busy to notice my unusual attire.

Erchirion ushered me to the fire where a mug of tea and a hot cake smothered in jammy berries were shoved into my hands, and I settled on an out of the way boulder to enjoy my breakfast while the men bustled around, breaking camp. My perch offered a good view of the land around me. The grass grew tall and green here, undulating like waves in the ever-present breeze. It reminded me strongly of the sea, and I lost myself in happy reverie for a few moments, remembering hot summer afternoons spent on the beach with my brothers. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago, before so much destruction and heartache changed the world.

I had finished the hot cake and was sipping on my tea, wondering if I might be able to get something else to eat when Éomer walked over. "Good morning, Princess." He gave a short bow, and motioned for me to remain sitting.

"Hello, my lord. I hope this morning finds you well." I laced my fingers around the mug, feeling unreasonably shy.

"It does, thank you." He leaned against the boulder beside me and we sat in companionable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of the camp.

"It suits you." He said after a moment, and I realized he was staring at me.

"Pardon?"

"The riding outfit."

"Oh." I blushed and wanted to slap myself for doing so. "Thank you. It was kind of you to find it for me."

"It was nothing. Enough of our women refused to stay at home while their husbands rode away again that I had little trouble finding an extra."

"You must have loyal people indeed, Éomer King, to convince a woman to willingly part with her clothing." That made him laugh. "And who do I have to thank for my lovely new attire?" I asked.

"Hilda, the wife of Marshal Elfhelm."

"Would you take me to her? I would like to thank her personally if I might."

"Of course, I'm sure she will be pleased to know that you like your new clothes." He stood and extended a hand to help me up. I dropped it as quickly as was polite.

"If you will just give me a moment to return my mug to the cook." He nodded, and I scurried away, trying to get a grip on my wildly beating heart. I wished Erchirion had kept his thoughts about me and Éomer to himself; wondering if Éomer considered me to be a friend or a potential bride made me feel awkward and shy.

Éomer made small talk as we walked toward the Rohirrim's encampment, inquiring whether I enjoyed the landscape and if I thought it would be hot again. It was like he could sense my disquiet and was carefully avoiding anything that might exacerbate it. We found Marshal Elfhelm among the horses, saddling an enormous stallion. A smaller gelding stood tacked and waiting beside him. He straightened up as we approached, eying me with open curiosity. He was not as tall as Éomer, but just as broad with long, reddish blonde hair and a fiery red beard. He looked about he same age as my brother Elphir. I wondered what he thought of me, the strange woman in his wife's clothes.

He greeted Éomer with a short bow and clasped his forearm. A rapid exchange in Rohirric followed. My name was mentioned a couple of times, but I didn't understand another word of what was said. Then, Éomer had taken the gelding's reins, and we were following the Marshal toward the cleared campsite. Éomer flashed me a reassuring smile.

"His wife is waiting for her horse back at their camp." He told me. "I'm afraid you'll have to make it quick, he has informed me that everyone is just about done breaking camp, and we need to make good time today." I just nodded. My stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

We reached the camp, and a pretty blonde woman rose from where she sat cross-legged on the ground. Elfhelm wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into a warm kiss. There was a strange stab in my chest, seeing the loving look in his eyes and the way she playfully nudged him away. I missed Théodred so strongly in that moment that I had to wrestle down a sob, and my eyes smarted with tears. Éomer was speaking to her, telling her who I was and completely unaware of my sudden surge in emotions, and I took a deep breath, trying to will the tears away. He looked down at me and smiled encouragingly. "She speaks Westron." I stepped forward and extended my hand to her.

"Lady Hilda, I would like to thank you for loaning me these clothes. It is very kind of you to be so generous to a stranger." She looked at me quietly for a beat then I found myself caught in her tight embrace.

"You are welcome, Princess." She replied in thickly accented Westron. "I am happy to help you." She pulled away, holding me at arm's length, bright blue eyes seeking mine. "You will ride with me today, yes? It would be good to talk of something besides horses and wars as the men do." A happy bubble swelled up in my chest, easing the ache a little.

"I would be honored to ride with you, Lady Hilda."

"Call me Hilda, and I will call you Lothíriel, for we are to be friends, yes?" Her good mood was so infectious, I couldn't suppress a grin.

"Yes, I think we will." She squeezed my arm happily.

"Éomer," He appeared at my side, and she issued him a string of orders in Rohirric. He laughed and bowed.

"She bids me take you back to retrieve your horse then return you to her promptly!" He translated for me.

"Do all Kings of the Mark take orders from their Marshals' wives?" I asked, unable to suppress a giggle.

"Only Hilda." He replied, offering me his arm. "We grew up together in Aldburg, and she has seen me at my worst. I do as she bids to buy her silence." We both laughed at that and started back toward my camp. "It would seem you have made yourself a new friend, my lady." He remarked as we walked. His smile seemed genuine, and I couldn't seem to find the gloominess that had swamped me just moments before.

"So it would seem."


End file.
